Four Ways to Vanish an Elephant

1.
“Is this your card?” Uncle George said, flipping the card over with a flourish. There was a collective gasp from the four great-nieces and -nephews gathered around the coffee table.

JJ, the amazed eight-year-old whose card it indeed was, leaned forward and whispered loudly, “How did you do that?”

George began gathering up the cards. “You know better than that, James,” he said. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“And good thing too,” Rick said from the doorway, “or we’d be here all night while the food got cold. Time to wash up for dinner, guys, go on.” He shooed the kids off, ignoring their sighs and cries of protest.

“Need help?” Rick asked, as his uncle slowly rose up off the couch.

George waved him off. “I might not be able to levitate anymore, but I can still stand up on my own.” He straightened up and smiled. “Now, did I hear something about food?”

Once everyone was gathered around the table, prayers were dealt with hastily, piety fighting a losing battle with the aromas wafting from the Thanksgiving feast. Dishes were passed in order of who seemed to want them the most, with the exception of the Brussels sprouts, which were mostly forced onto the plates of the younger diners, disappearing quickly beneath piles of turkey, cranberry sauce, and marshmallow-covered sweet potatoes. Rick noticed that while George was busy making food disappear from plates and reappear behind ears, he was letting most of it pass him by.

As dessert was being prepared, George clinked his fork against his glass. “I would like to propose a toast,” he said, as the table slowly quieted. “That is, I would like to, but my glass appears to be empty, and you can’t toast with an empty glass.” He gestured at the bottle of white wine sitting next to Rick’s brother, David. “Why don’t you pass that down this-a-way?” he said.

David hesitated, looking over at Rick. “I think water will work fine, George,” Rick said.

“Nonsense,” George said. “Water is for quotidian occasions. I need something worthy of a festive salute.”

“I really think water is fine. JJ, pour Uncle George some water.”

George grabbed JJ’s hand. “James doesn’t need to pour Uncle George any water. Uncle George can pour his own damn water or whatever he damn well—”

“George!” Rick stood up, then took a deep breath. “Do you need some fresh air, George?” he asked.

George looked down and at Rick’s son. JJ’s eyes were wide and the corners of his mouth quivered. George let go of JJ’s hand, then slowly stood up. “Yes, now that you mention it, I think I do,” he said.

“I think I’ll join you,” Rick said, and together they walked out of the dining room and made their way out to the patio.

Rick turned to his uncle. “I don’t even know where to start. I just wanted to have a pleasant dinner, but you couldn’t go one night without—”

“I know,” George said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it this time, George,” Rick said. “I mean, it’s one thing to take it out on me, but JJ? Do you have any idea how much he looks up to you? He thinks you’re larger than life, and I don’t want to be the one to tell him different. Do you?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” George said, “I’m not, am I?”

Rick was about to reply when JJ came running out. “Uncle George, can you come do the pie trick?”

“Uncle George is very tired,” Rick said. “I’m going to take him home.”

2.
“Is this your card?” Rick said, flipping the card over. Silence.

“When’s Uncle George getting here?” JJ asked.

“After I go pick him up.”

“And when will that be?”

“After he calls to tell me he’s ready to leave.”

“And when will that be?”

“I don’t know, JJ.” Rick looked at the clock. George was supposed to call around 4:00; it was now 4:30. He looked at the kids’ expectant faces. “How about you guys sit tight, and I’ll go see what’s what.”

On his way out, he stuck his head into the kitchen. “I’m going over to George’s,” he said.

Katherine looked up from checking the turkey. “I thought we agreed that if he didn’t call, he wasn’t coming,” she said. “Dinner will be ready in five minutes, and I don’t want to make everyone wait.”

“I know,” Rick said, “but I don’t want to have to look at JJ’s ‘sad puppy’ face all night. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, tops.”

“Fine, fine,” Katherine said, “I’ll try to fend off the starving hoards until then.”

Rick was at George’s door five minutes later. He rang the doorbell a couple times. “George? It’s Rick,” he yelled through the door. “Come on, food’s getting cold.”

“I’m not hungry,” George yelled back.

“Well, come anyway. You don’t want to disappoint your biggest fan, do you?”

Rick waited until finally he heard footsteps, and then the door opened. George stood there in his bathrobe, holding a half-empty bottle. “James…he’s asking for me?” he said.

“Yeah—but, really, George?” Rick said, nodding at the bottle.

George looked at it. “Oh, that,” he said, “I didn’t think I was going anywhere, you know, and…. It’s my first one Richard, Scout’s Honor.” George set the bottle on a table by the door. “Give me a couple minutes to get myself decent and I’ll be ready to go.”

“I don’t know.” The wind picked up, and George shivered. “Okay, look,” Rick said, “I’ll let you come on two conditions. One: nothing but water to drink.”

“Promise,” George said.

“Two: I want you to talk to David about Pine Valley again—” he held up his hand to quiet George’s protest, “and if JJ really means that much to you, you’ll go.”

George fell silent. He looked at the bottle again, then back at Rick. “Deal,” he said.

3.
“Is this your card?” Rick said, flipping the card over. Silence.

“When’s Uncle George getting here?” JJ asked.

Rick looked at the clock. George was supposed to call around 4:00; it was now 4:30. “I don’t think Uncle George is coming tonight, JJ,” Rick said. He started shuffling the cards. “Do you want to see another trick?” he asked.

“You only know one trick,” JJ said.

“And it’s not very good,” said David’s daughter, Cynthia, in a stage whisper.

“Well, then. JJ, why don’t you do a trick?”

JJ grinned. “Ok!” He took the deck of cards and turned to Cynthia. “Think of a card. Hold it in your mind.” His face became an image of intense concentration. Suddenly, he turned over the top card of the deck. “Is THIS your card?” he said.

Cynthia shook her head.

“Hmm. I must concentrate harder,” JJ said. He got a quarter of the way through the deck before it was time for dinner, and Cynthia admitted that she’d forgotten what her card was anyway.

Dinner was uneventful. As David’s family was getting ready to leave, Rick’s brother took him aside. “I think you should check on George,” David said. “I tried calling before we had dessert, and he didn’t pick up.”

“What do you expect me to do about it tonight?” Rick said. “It’s late, and I’m not leaving all the dishes, not to mention JJ, for Katherine to deal with.”

“Okay, okay. But I’m worried about him.”

Rick sighed. “If it’ll make you feel better, I can swing by in the morning.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Rick drove over to George’s house after breakfast. He rang the doorbell once, twice. “George,” he called, “it’s Rick. Just wanted to check in, make sure you’re okay.” No answer. Rick lifted up the empty flower pot that sat next to the door, picked up the spare key, and let himself in.

George’s house was a museum – or it would be, if he kept it organized. The floors and walls were lined with magic memorabilia. Rick was admiring the posters as he headed toward the living room, when he stumbled over an overflowing prop chest, knocking it open and spilling some of its contents on the floor.

Rick managed to steady himself against an empty patch of wall. He bent down and started putting things back in the chest: an old wooden wand, chipped and warped; a pair of trick handcuffs; a deck of tarot cards. He paused as he picked up the last two items, a cape and top hat, much too small for a grown man. He reached into the top hat and felt around until he heard a click, then pulled out a stuffed rabbit, moth-eaten, one ear torn. He held it, and remembered for a while.

Eventually, he got back up. He called for George again. Still no answer. The house felt empty. Slowly, Rick passed through the living room and proceeded down the hall to George’s bedroom.

The coroner found him there an hour later, sitting on the floor. Rick spoke calmly, explained who he was, why he was there, explained George’s history with alcohol, his voice never faltering. His eyes remained fixed on one of the posters on the wall. It was the centerpiece of the room, just across from George’s bed. Two figures were pictured there, a man and a boy. Rick studied their faces, traced the lines, until, finally, tears clouded his vision.

4.
“Is this your card?” Uncle George said, flipping the card over with a flourish. There was a collective gasp from the four great-nieces and nephews gathered around the coffee table.

JJ, the amazed eight-year-old whose card it indeed was, leaned forward and whispered loudly, “How did you do that?”

George began gathering up the cards. “You know better than that, James,” he said. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“Unless you keep bugging him about it,” Rick said from the doorway. He walked over and tousled JJ’s hair. “And it helps if you’re cute. You’ll have to worm it out of him later though, it’s time to wash up for dinner.” The kids scurried off, eager for food.

“Here, let me help,” Rick said, and moved to his uncle’s side as George slowly rose up off the couch.

“Time was I could’ve levitated myself up,” George said as he straightened up. “Now, did I hear something about food?”

Once everyone was gathered around the table, prayers were dealt with hastily, piety fighting a losing battle with the aromas wafting from the Thanksgiving feast. Dishes were passed in order of who seemed to want them the most, with the exception of the Brussels sprouts, which were mostly forced onto the plates of the younger diners, disappearing quickly beneath piles of turkey, cranberry sauce, and marshmallow-covered sweet potatoes.

Rick noticed that while George was busy making food disappear from plates and reappear behind ears, he was letting most of it pass him by. At one point, a Brussels sprout fell out of George’s sleeve and rolled down the length of the table. George laughed it off, but Rick saw the frustration behind the forced smile.

As dessert was being prepared, George said something about getting some fresh air, and made his way out to the patio, grabbing his sports jacket on the way. Rick followed a few minutes later. He got to the sliding glass doors just in time to see George slip something into his jacket pocket.

“I didn’t know fresh air came in a flask,” Rick said as he stepped outside, sliding the door closed behind him.

“It’s amazing what technology can do these days,” George said. He was sitting facing the lawn, not meeting Rick’s eyes.

“We’ve talked about this, George, you know – ”

“Can we not do this tonight, Richard?” George said, finally turning to look at him. “Can you just pretend, just for tonight, that you didn’t see anything?”

Rick looked up at the sky, breathed. “Fine,” he said. He pulled out a chair and sat down beside his uncle. George pulled out his favorite deck of cards, circus-themed, and started shuffling them absentmindedly. Neither of them said anything. After a bit, George pulled out the ace of hearts and looked at it. It had an elephant on the front, with an acrobat sitting side-saddle on top. George spoke then, quietly, as if to no one in particular.

“Houdini once vanished an elephant on stage,” he said. “Imagine. It’s just standing there, larger than life, and then poof,” and with a gesture, the card disappeared, “it’s gone. Just like that. It really must have been something.”

Rick didn’t know what to say, so he reached out and laid a hand on George’s shoulder.

At that moment, the patio door slid open, and JJ came rushing out. “Uncle George, Uncle George, come do the pie trick!”

George looked at Rick, who nodded, and let go of George’s shoulder. George got up, slowly, and turned to JJ, smiling. “Alright, James,” he said. “Ready to be amazed?”

This story was originally published in The Cauldron, Kalamazoo College’s literary and visual arts journal.